Kind of Pretty
by yeaka
Summary: Harry hears a rumor about Draco Malfoy, and things get out of hand. (Slash, crack.)
1. The Idea

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, or even an I-pod, and I'm not making any money off this.

Warnings: Slash, insanity, maybe crack, uselessness, undercurrents of Seamus/Dean.

A/N: This is an old story. Proceed with caution.

* * *

"Draco Malfoy looks hot in makeup, you know."

Harry could have gone his whole life without knowing that. He clearly wasn't the only one who thought so, either. Some things are just better left unsaid.

"What?" Ginny smiled thoughtfully. "He does."

There were a few more minutes of silence, in which Harry gawked at his friend, and Ron stared disgustedly at his sister. His voice came out dry and indignant. "Why are you telling us this?" It only made her smile more.

Ginny leaned back against the couch and absently flipped her fiery curls over her shoulder. At least she had the decency to blush a little, but only just so. She had the entire room's attention. "Because it's interesting information, silly. Besides, you asked me for gossip about the Slytherins – what did you think I would come up with?"

"Their latest Quidditch plans or something," Ron retorted, "not what Malfoy looks like in drag!"

Giggling a little, Ginny shrugged. "Oh. Well, now you know. Hope that'll come in handy, anyway." She slid off the end of his bed and headed for the dormitory door. She paused at the entrance, with one hand on the frame. "And I didn't _say_ in drag. ...That information's still pending."

With a wink she closed the door, leaving Harry with the unpleasant mental image of Malfoy in a green dress. It looked suspiciously like the one he had once seen Snape in – or at least, a Boggart in Snape's form. It wasn't at all flattering. Hardly what he'd call hot.

Dean was the first person to break the silence. "One, why does she know creepy inside stuff on the Slytherins, and two, why is was she allowed in the boy's dorms? I'm not allowed in the girls."

Ignoring the last sentence, as he had had the same experience once upon a time, Ron muttered darkly, "She's dating one of them – Zambini or whatever. And Dumbledore trusts girls more than us."

Seamus rolled his eyes. "It's Zabini, and it's not like Dumbledore built this school." Everyone in the room glanced at him, and his cheeks went pink. "What? Blaise Zabini –he's in half our classes."

Dean glared at him. "Why do you know so much about the guys in Slytherin?"

"I don't, just his name!" The sandy-haired boy went even redder. "Besides, what do you care who I know?"

Apparently Dean didn't know why he cared either, because he glared down at his shoes and didn't reply. Instead, he turned his head to the side and said, "Doesn't matter if Ginny finds out their plays for us, Gryffindor'll take the Cup anyway, right, Harry?"

Harry gave a start. The little Malfoy-in-a-dress behind his eyes refused to go away, and it was traumatizing him out of breath. "Huh?" he said, before swinging his head wildly around at them. "Ginny plays what?"

Dean and Seamus both gave him a funny look. Ron was still looking absolutely mortified.

"I've never seen Malfoy wearing makeup before," he mumbled, like a zombie in a trance. "Do you think he really does?"

Now the little Malfoy-in-a-dress was also wearing Aunt Petunia's nail polish and lipstick. Neither matched the dress. The room was utterly quiet.

Then, at the same time, "Yes." "No."

Dean and Seamus looked at each other. After a moment, the latter muttered, "Am I the only one who's always thought he's a bit of a pansy? He does have awfully nice hair."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Dude, he's a pansy alright, but just because he's such a wimp. Where'd the hair thing come from?"

Seamus shrugged. "Yours is nice, too."

Dean opened his mouth, closed it again, and lapsed into silence again. After a moment he crawled into bed, smiling oddly, and a moment later Seamus did the same thing.

Ron took a few more minutes before following suit, and he did so mumbling, "Stupid git won't know what's coming..."

When Harry finally joined his roommates, the lights had already been off for a good while. He was still staring at the blond in the back of his mind, squinting and widening his eyes. He supposed if the dress were a bit up-to-date, Malfoy could look a little pretty. He was just saying that as an honest fact, mind. The stupid ferret was still a bloody git.

That said, he pulled the covers over his head, before the now-dancing image did lasting damaged. He doubted Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would be very happy about paying for him to see a shrink, no matter how amusing it would be for Dudley to rub in.


	2. The Rumor

The next Potions class contained one of the most interesting moments Harry had every shared with Professor Snape. Snape had undoubtedly been through quite a lot during his long career, but evidently he had never before had to keep a hoard of teenage boys from thoroughly invading the privacy of another.

The plan had gone smoothly enough, at first. Only little things would happen, like Seamus knocking ingredients to the floor and having to crawl around at the table beside his. Dean had somehow gotten ink on the feathers of his quill, flicked the ink halfway across the classroom, and hurriedly rushed to clean it up. Harry, being directly behind the person being violated, only had to lean over the table as inconspicuously as possible, while Ron said he couldn't read the writing on the board and stood next to the closest table to do so, trying to look sideways instead. Unfortunately, everything fell to pieces when their actions were explained to Neville, who had proceeded to knock the entire contents of his and Harry's potion onto the back of their newly labeled 'victim.' He never got so far as to actually clean it up, as that was the point where Snape moved Malfoy to the back of the class, as far away from all Gryffindors as he could get. Their intentions, if not motive, had clearly bean exposed.

By the time the lesson was over, Snape and Malfoy were thoroughly disturbed. Snape's eyes didn't leave Harry until he disappeared behind the door.

All of the Gryffindor boys hung back after the lesson despite their failure, while the girls gave them suspicious looks. Hermione refused to leave.

"I'm so glad I slept through that conversation last night," Neville told them, after rushing out with a detention. "Why did you all have to fill me in?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What conversation?"

There was an awkward moment before Seamus decided to attempt an explanation, sounding decidedly uncomfortable. "Last night Ginny told us that Malfoy wears makeup..."

"No, she said he looked hot in it," Harry interrupted. His peers turned to look at him in unison, matching looks of shock and worry on their faces. "What?" he added indignantly. "That's what she said!"

"Um, right," Seamus continued, as if nothing had happened. "Anyway, we're just trying to figure out if it's true or not. All I noticed was that his nails looked kind of shiny, but maybe he just washed his hands or something."

"I didn't notice anything," Dean shrugged. "But I don't think shiny nails means much. What's the point in wearing clear nail polish?"

They all turned to Hermione, as if for an explanation. She just shrugged. "Don't look at me, I don't wear makeup." As if as an after thought, she added, "And I'm torn between smacking you all in the head for bothering with something so silly when we have a very important Transfiguration essay due, and egging you on to find some proof faster to see the look on Malfoy's face when we tell him."

"His lips are awfully red," Ron started up again. "The rest of him is so pale – that's got to mean something."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, and his eyes are awfully dark, like he's wearing eyeliner or something."

Everyone turned to Neville, in anticipation of his controversial discovery. He shrugged. "I'm with Hermione, this is crazy. ...Amusing, but crazy."

"We're going to be late for class," Hermione said suddenly, and they were all forced to scramble down the hallway.

"This is going to be so fun once we get proof," Ron chirped happily, as the group skidded to a halt in the next doorway, without Neville and Hermione, who had left for a different class.

Seamus and Dean added excited replies, but Harry had already retreated back into his mind. How were they going to tell if Malfoy actually wore makeup or not? If he was, it wasn't very much, or they would have noticed before. It wasn't like they could just rig up another Polyjuice Potion or something to watch him put it on. But then how were they going to get solid proof...?

And that's when it hit him.

As everyone sat down behind their desks, Harry found himself nudging Ron in the shoulder, as the teacher entered the room.

"Hey, Ron," he mumbled quickly. "Why do we need solid proof, anyway? This is Malfoy, so who cares if we make a false accusation?"

This seemed to be a fair point, because Ron gave a start. "Bloody hell, you're right!"

At Ron's outburst, Seamus and Dean turned around, and Harry filled them in. Within the next thirty seconds a rumor was unanimously agreed upon. They spent the next couple of days using every chance they could to spread it, and every Gryffindor boy of their year helped out, even though Seamus and Dean weren't complete enemies with Malfoy. It was still fun to see the looks on peoples' faces as it spread like wildfire.

One of their best 'investments' was telling Lavender Brown. "Oh, this is so frustrating," she growled one morning, down in the common room. "My lipstick keeps coming off – what does a girl have to do to get a decent non-stick lipstick around here?"

Rather than asking who's collar the stuff was coming off on, like most girls would, Hermione simply replied, "Try asking Draco Malfoy where he goes – his never leaves trails."

The look on Lavender's face that followed this remark was so classic that Ginny was sent to find Colin Creevey, who delightedly took several shots.

Shortly afterwards, Lavender was heard repeating something very similar to Parvati Patil at breakfast. Parvati was then noted to tell her sister, Padma, who then told Ernie Macmillan, who's unusually loud voice carried to Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbot, and Anthony Goldstein, the latter of which told Michel Corner and Terry Boot, and the list pretty much went on like that, getting progressively worse and worse. By the end of the day the whole of Gryffindor Tower thought Malfoy spent his nights in women's underwear and frilly gowns, if not the whole school.

By the end of three days, everyone in Gryffindor had spread the news to everyone in Ravenclaw, and almost everyone in Hufflepuff. What must have been the last person to know was spotted on the grounds around lunchtime by Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Oh," Luna Lovegood said uninterestedly, from behind her upside-down issue of _The Quibbler_, "I've always known that." After the (not-so-surprisingly) odd comment, Luna retreated behind her magazine and wasn't seen again for the rest of the day.

Of course, the Slytherins had to have heard the rumor. Most simply refused to accept and repeat it. Most. Fortunately, the originators of the rumor were granted the pleasure to be there when such words finally reached Malfoy's own ears.

It went something like this.

"_WHAT?!_"

"I only asked where you got your eye-shadow from, no need to bite my head off."

"I'm not wearing eye-shadow!"

"...Oh."

There was an awkward pause, in which the Gryffindors surveyed the scene with exceedingly amused grins, and the Slytherins stood in bewildered horror, all from behind their cauldrons.

"...You have very lovely eyelids, then."

"Get away from me!"

Blaise Zabini sulked back to his seat, pouting and muttering, "Fine, fine."

Professor Snape had dropped his wand, half-finished instructions completely forgotten. Ron's mouth was hanging open in a wide grin, and Harry had both hands over his mouth to stop the laughter. Malfoy had a look on his face that was an even cross between shock, anger, and horror. Harry instantly dubbed the moment one of the happiest of his life.

The entire class (Snape included) continued staring at the blond. Then Pansy Parkinson broke the silence.

"I told you that lipstick thing was just a rumor," she whispered to the girl beside her. Malfoy went ghostly white.

"What lipstick thing?!"

After another bout of awkward silence, the girl mumbled, "Then the nail-polish thing..."

"I'm not wearing nail-polish!"

Harry couldn't help it anymore - he dropped his hands and burst out laughing. Evidently, Ron and Dean had done the same thing, while Seamus had dropped to his knees and proceeded to bang the floor, as the classroom suddenly boomed with sound. Hermione was still attempting to hold in the giggles with both hands, as Neville turned red from the same efforts beside her. Parvati and Lavender were doubling over in fits of rapid giggles behind them, and Pansy looked utterly horrified. Crabbe and Goyle stood still like two particularly stupid stones, waiting for Malfoy to give instructions on what to do. Snape was still staring.

Gryffindor lost an awful lot of points that day, but nearly everyone (nearly meaning 'except Hermione') agreed it was worth it. Harry thought this especially true, after the look of pure hatred Malfoy had sent him during class.

The following morning proved just as amusing.

"Blaise dumped me," Ginny sighed, at the Gryffindor table. Although they felt bad and wanted to apologize, the creators of the rumor were having difficulty paying attention, as Malfoy was racing up and down the Slytherin table, trying to squash out phrases such as 'now that you mention it, he is awfully pretty for a boy' and 'always thought he was a poof.'

Hermione patted her on the shoulder sympathetically. Ginny didn't really sound that upset.

"He had a right to, mind. I did abuse my powers. And honestly, you guys, I didn't say he's always got it on, I just said he looks hot when he does."

Once again, Harry really didn't need to know that. However, rather than permanently scar him like last time, this only served to inspire maniacal laughter inside his mind. The little 'Draco in drag' behind his eyes was currently sulking, and that look was certainly worth the many house points Gryffindor had lost.

Taking a large chunk out of his toast, Harry began trying to stamp out his curiosity as to what Malfoy actually would look in drag. After all, he figured it had to be a pretty decent sight for Ginny to say so.

Harry quickly realized that such a thought officially made him psychotic, and he moved on to thinking about the up-coming Quidditch match without a backwards glance.


	3. The Consequences

Though the cosmetic rumor was by no means blocked out of Harry's mind, it wasn't a major thought train again for about a week. After all, Malfoy in makeup was only so amusing up to a point – then it just became disturbing. Harry hadn't reached that stage yet, but he figured it wasn't very nice, as Ron made pretty vivid faces whenever it was mentioned.

"All I'm saying is he'd look terrible in lighter eye-shadow," Harry explained one day, after a particularly wet Quidditch match. Ron gave him a funny look.

"You're crazy, mate, thinking about that stuff." Shaking his head, Ron waited at the change room door for him to catch up. "We need to stop talking about this." And he made one of those faces again that always made Harry laugh.

He wanted to point out that it really was true, and Malfoy would be better off sticking to dark greens and blacks, but thought better of it. Maybe Ron was right. He was thinking about it too much.

Harry could tell Malfoy agreed, as he'd switched responses to the rumor. There were simply too many to stomp out. Rather than have Crabbe and Goyle beat the living daylights out of anyone that brought it up, he would instead snap bitterly, "My father's very high up in the Ministry you know, I wonder what he'd have to say about you talking about me like that?" or, more simply, "I'm going to have my father kill you." This was a great relief to Madam Pomfrey, who had yet to hear the rumor, but was still very aware of the decreased amount of free beds in the Infirmary.

Anyway, it wasn't until about a weak after the rumor that Harry actually got face to face with Malfoy on it. He couldn't tell if he was happy about this or not. On the one hand, it was a chance to rub things in. On the other hand, the meeting happened after his last Potions detention (naturally, he had been blamed for last week's outburst) and he was currently without backup, while Crabbe and Goyle were most likely lurking behind the nearest wall.

After having turned another stone corner, Harry took a cautious step backwards. Malfoy was at the end of the corridor, arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall. Harry put his hands in his pockets and grabbed at his wand. Just in case. "Malfoy," he stated, equally casual.

"Potter," the Slytherin replied. Had this been two weeks ago, Harry would have assumed that Malfoy was red with anger. However, as it wasn't two weeks past, he found himself assuming Malfoy was red with that blushy-powerdy stuff Parvati Patil whined about applying too much sometimes. This made the situation comical, despite the possibility of hiding backup trolls. He forced the grin off his face. Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to have anything to smirk about once I'm finished with you," he drawled, dangerously. "You're going to pay for that rumor."

Immediately, Harry took his hands out of his pockets and crossed his own arms. If Crabbe and Goyle were hiding around the corner, they couldn't do any damage long-distance, anyway. (They were both terrible at spells and usually went for the physical beating approach.) "According to my sources, it's not just a rumor."

Malfoy's lip curled. Quite expectedly, he sneered, and made a move as if for his wand. Then, quite unexpectedly, he simply turned and walked around the corner.

It took Harry a moment to register this in his brain. Malfoy had just... walked off. That had never happened before.

So, being the rash male teen he was, Harry ran after Malfoy.

"Hey, where do you think you're goi-"

But Malfoy wasn't down that corridor. And it was a pretty long one, too. However, there was a door open to his right.

"Come on, Potter," the familiar voice suddenly called. "We can't settle this where a professor might wander along, can we?"

Harry supposed this made sense. He still used caution while walking up to the door, though. Just because he had the perfect opportunity to curse Malfoy's apparently-cosmetic-free face didn't mean he should proceed without every last careful care and concern...

On second though, screw that. Malfoy was pretty lousy with a wand, and Harry was a dueling major. Then he stepped through the doors, two rather large sets of arms grabbed him from either side, and that theory went out the window.

The door instantly locked with a flick of Malfoy's wand, leaving Harry to wonder why on Earth he'd been stupid enough to just mindlessly follow his enemy into an open room.

Not that Harry was going down without a fight. Heaven forbid. He struggled like it was going out of style, using every pause and opening to try and jam his fist right into the two cronies struggling to pin him down. Unfortunately, as strong as Harry was, Crabbe and Goyle were stronger, and he was soon pointlessly shifting against the floor under their grip. It didn't help matters that each Slytherin was about twice Harry's size.

Malfoy crossed his arms again, and with a superior look on his face, motioned something to Crabbe and Goyle. The latter fished Harry's wand out of his pocket (much to Harry's angry protests,) and threw it towards Malfoy. He caught it easily. Harry growled.

"A little something my father taught me," the head Slytherin laughed. He did something with Harry's wand, muttered something low, snapped his fingers, and ropes sprung up out of nowhere. They reached for Harry's arms and legs, and before he knew what was happening, Crabbe and Goyle were pulling him onto a chair. Within seconds he was securely strapped onto it.

Malfoy chuckled again, with that aggravating superiority attempt in his voice. He stepped right in front of Harry, and Crabbe and Goyle mechanically went to stand behind him. Harry glared his heart out. "Coward," he muttered. "Knew you'd never beat me in a fair duel, I guess."

For once, Malfoy ignored the comment. "You've been spreading lies about me," he drawled, in place of a reply. Harry would have nodded, but he was too busy glaring. "Well, Potter, I've got a little lesson to teach you." He bent down, until their noses were practically touching. This suited Harry just fine, as it presented a perfect opportunity for him to check if those amazingly clear pores actually had blush on them or not. (His curiosity always got the better of him.) With a sudden dramatic air, Malfoy finished with, "What goes around comes around."

Harry paused.

"Huh?"

Malfoy didn't answer. Instead, he gave Harry a very flat look, and straightened out, motioning towards the corner. Goyle moved over to a table, the top of which was obscured from Harry's view. Then he turned around and came back...

Harry paled.

Goyle handed the various containers to Malfoy, who set a few on the floor and held one tube out for Harry to see.

"Tugwood's magical non-stick strawberry lipstick," the blond read off the label, rather joyously. "Guaranteed not to smudge." He winked.

Harry paled even further. Crabbe and Goyle laughed stupidly in the background.

"And what's this?" Malfoy added, in mock surprise. "Guaranteed to stay on for at least a twenty-four hour period. Huh, fancy that..."

And that was the exact moment when Harry swore he would never spread untrue rumors again in his life.


	4. The Even Worse Rumor

Remember that exact moment when Harry swore he would never spread untrue rumors again in his life?

Well, that was stupid.

Harry was done with that.

Harry was now furiously trying to convince Hermione to come up with a decent (and by decent he meant believable, not honorable) lie to get Malfoy back and explain why he looked like a woman. ...This was after her vast spell knowledge had failed to cure the predicament, of course. ("Oh, if I only knew the ingredients-" "Hermione, I didn't have time to read the labels, I was busy dying of shame!")

Of course, telling Hermione was not Harry's first choice. Telling anyone was not Harry's first choice. However, come morning the entire school would know, Harry's choice or not, and Hermione was the only logical solution he could think of for any problem. (He was lucky the fiasco ended so late – no one else was in the common room, save for the bushy haired brunette _still_ not done her five-foot-long essay.)

By the end of the hour, Harry and Hermione still couldn't think of anything. Hermione wanted to ask Ron, too, but Harry was greatly opposed to that. He could picture Ron's reaction perfectly in his mind, and it wasn't a pretty one. As far as he was concerned, Hermione was mad to even consider such a thing.

"All right, then," she finally grumbled, after his flat out refusal to consult Professor Snape on the matter. (Of course he wouldn't have any makeup removing potions – Hermione really was mad.) "I give up."

Shortly after that statement, she disappeared behind her book, and didn't emerge again for the rest of Harry's rather short night. He put his forehead down on the table, growled loudly at the unfairness of his entire life, and promptly fell asleep.

He was woken again at approximately five a.m., by a very surprised looking Katie Bell.

He blinked himself awake for a few minutes. She continued openly ogling him for the duration of said few minutes. When he raised an eyebrow quizzically she mouthed something that looked like, "Quidditch practice." It took Harry a moment to place such odd behavior.

Oh _crap._

Harry was about to open his mouth (to say what, he'll never know) when Hermione cut in for him. Apparently she was still doing homework ('_madwoman!_', Harry thought furiously). He appreciated the help: any logical explanation for why his lips were startlingly red, his eyelids a sparkling crimson, his cheeks pink, his nails scarlet, and his eyelashes twice their normal size was far beyond his own comprehension.

Then he heard what she actually had to say, and any praise for her instantly deteriorated.

"Malfoy did it when Harry fell asleep in the Quidditch stands last night." That part was okay. She made her tone more irritable. "He's still pissed that Harry turned him down yesterday. The annoying thing is that it wasn't even Harry's fault. I mean, Harry can't help it if he's straight." That part wasn't. She shook her head and sighed. "Honestly though, I can't stand that stupid git. Just because he can afford the best cosmetics around he thinks he's got a right to every boy in the school."

After the above declaration, Hermione once again retreated to the pages of her book, her preferred habitat.

Katie Bell's mouth had officially reached the floor. She spent a few more minutes staring her brains out at Harry, while he stared his own out at Hermione. Then she took off at the speed of light.

Harry didn't show up for practice, due to the excessive amount of time he spent washing his face. This loss really was a shame, for were he there he might have been able to defend himself. The change-room discussions before practice went something like this:

"That can't be true! Malfoy wouldn't ask Harry out, they hate each other!"

"Then why would Harry be plastered in makeup?"

"Well... Maybe he's gay."

"That's not synonymous with wearing makeup, you know."

"So he can be a pansy but Malfoy can't?"

"Maybe their both poofs!"

"No, I'll bet that Malfoy's really liked Harry for a while, but didn't have the courage to act on it until now – why else would Malfoy always be on him?"

"What's different now?"

"Well you heard the rumor – now we all know he's gay."

"I didn't. Well, no, I do now, but still. I think this is a little silly. What about all the fights they've been through? Everyone knows they're enemies."

"Maybe when we think they're off fighting they're really off screwing."

"That could be true..."

"I think its more likely Malfoy's just the biggest homo to ever walk the Earth. Honestly, it's in his genes. Have you seen the bow his father wears in his pony-tail?"

The team was unable to come to a consensus, though they spent all of practice gossiping over it whenever their brooms approached each other. Nearly everyone walked away with a different perspective on the secret life of the Boy-Who-Lived, and the Slytherin with lovely eyelids. Nearly everyone told nearly all of their friends during breakfast. It was... chaos.

Mass, mass chaos.

It would probably have been best for Harry to come down to breakfast, to avoid the same sort of thing that happened at practice. The rumors were growing steadily more inaccurate, and everyone it reached exaggerated when they next told it. It was like a little snowball someone had thrown, that was being rolled down a very gay hill and slowly collecting massive amounts of gay snow, until it was the hugest gay snowman any fangirl had ever seen. Seriously. By the time it found it's way back to Ginny Weasley, it was so twisted and farfetched that Hermione's little lie was barely even detectable. Harry really, really should have been there to defend himself this time.

However, out of shame, he confined himself to Gryffindor Tower and decided to come as close to skipping class as Hermione would let him.

Malfoy had been doing something similar to this all week, sending Crabbe and Goyle up for food at the appropriate times. His absence today didn't help the situation, either. Most had just assumed he had moved to Durmstrang, hoping to escape the rumor there, but Pansy Parkinson angrily squashed that rumor.

"He'll be back next week," she hotly told a Hufflepuff girl, standing not too far off from the Gryffindor table. "He's just taking a few days off right now to plan out what type of horrible deaths he's going to put you all through." Pansy stalked off after that, nose glued in the air.

For safety reasons, the Gryffindor boys of Harry's year resolved not to burst out laughing until she was safely back at the Slytherin table. After such an event, they promptly did so.

"He'll be down there for months at this rate!" Seamus laughed, sitting in-between Dean and Ron. "Man, this is the best thing that's happened to us since the ferret thing."

Ron lapsed into a whole new bout of laughter. He looked around to comment on the brilliance of it all to Harry, but suddenly realized that his friend wasn't there. He wiped at his eyes as the giggles trailed off. "Hey, what happened to Harry?"

Dean shrugged. "He ran by me in the common room." After a moment he added thoughtfully, "He had his head lowered, too. Maybe he's sick?"

Seamus frowned. "What's there to be sick about? Malfoy's prancing around the dungeons in women's underwear, how could life get any better than that?"

Dean gave him a shocked look. "What are you talking about?" Evidently, he hadn't heard the latest developments of the rumor.

So Seamus kindly filled him in. "I heard he does it sometimes." Seamus shrugged. "At least, that's what this Ravenclaw kid told me."

There was a moment of silence. Then Dean squinted his eyes. "...Wait... what do you mean 'how could life get any better than that?'"

Seamus grinned broadly. "Don't you think that'd look just awesome?"

"...By awesome you'd better mean hilarious."

"...Well, no, not really, not in Malfoy's case." He wrinkled his nose with a new bit of laughter. "Honestly though, I think any of us dancing around in women's underwear would be awesome. ...Only that would be in a hilarious way."

"So you think Malfoy in drag is awesome, but me in drag is just funny?"

Seamus blinked blankly. "Huh...? ...Oh!" Comprehension suddenly dawned on his face. "No, I didn't mean awesome like good-looking or anything! I meant awesome 'cause it'd be so horrible for him." He paused. ...Then grinned, rather slyly. "Why, do you want me happily thinking about you in drag?"

Dean's dark cheeks turned red.

Fortunately, he was spared from actually answering the question. Ginny had just rushed up in front of them, and Neville moved over to let her sit down.

"Have you guys heard the latest rumor?" She squeaked, completely breathless. They all shook their heads.

"We're guys, Ginny, we don't gossip," Ron informed her.

"...Unless it involves humiliating Malfoy," Neville mumbled, blushing.

She grinned. "Well, you won't believe this one, but I heard it from a very reliable source." They all gave her a flat smile, an invitation for her to continue. ...So she did. In a very fast, excited tone, she quickly voiced the last thing any of the – very – shocked Gryffindors had ever expected to hear. "Harry and Malfoy are in love! They were going to get married in secret last year, but now Harry's dumped Malfoy because he loves professor Snape, only Snape won't marry Harry because he likes Malfoy! But he just loves all boys so much that he put Malfoy _and_ Harry in makeup, to see who looks better and thus whom he should be with! That's why I saw Malfoy in it that one time in the Slytherin common room! ...Oh, and that also explains why Harry's not here! ...Only, he might only be late because of morning sickness. Malfoy got him pregnant a few months ago in the Transfiguration classroom – apparently wizarding organs are different from Muggle ones! He said he wouldn't give Malfoy custody, so now the little ferret's pissed – that's why he's been hiding out in Slytherin all week! Poor Harry, I bet he's also really sad that Malfoy won Snape – I heard that Filch got to be the judge. I wonder why Harry dumped Malfoy anyway, he could have just had a threesome with both of them like he used to! ...Maybe it's because Malfoy's a hermaphrodite – he's got both parts! Isn't that weird?"

She paused to gasp for breath.

Taking a deep one in, Ginny cleanly finished her announcement. "...Oh, and Dumbledore wears a thong. But that's got nothing to do with anything."

Neville fainted.


	5. The Letters

As much as one could say it was a great misfortune for Harry to miss breakfast, one could also argue that it would have been an equal misfortune for Harry to miss the eagle owl knocking on the Gryffindor window. (Mind you, those arguing in favor of Harry missing breakfast for a very disturbed looking owl would have to be fangirls, particularly those with the knowledge of who such an owl might belong to.)

Of course, Harry was very hesitant to let the owl in. He knew (along with the aforementioned fangirls) that the creature had flown all the way up from the dungeons, and the contents of the letter it carried were likely to be as damaging to his brain as the constant knock of its beak against the glass wall.

In the end, he decided to take his chances with the actual letter, as the noise really was dreadfully annoying.

He opened the window, let the bird in, and it sat on the windowsill, waiting. Figures it would be purposely trained. Harry glared at it out of instinct.

Creepily enough, the thing glared back.

So Harry gave up on it and opened the envelope. The paper was obviously expensive; it felt soft against his skin. When he finally got it open, the ink turned out to be a sort of silken dark green that shimmered in the light. It was written very neatly, and said the following:

'_Having fun with the humiliation you deserve, Potter?'_

Harry blinked a moment, suddenly feeling quite unsatisfied. He turned the letter over, fully expecting a longer insult on the back. It was blank.

Still a little confused, Harry turned the letter over again. Well, that didn't seem right. He turned it over again. Still nothing. ...Back to the front. ...Wait. It now said:

'_That was it, you stupid Gryffindork. You're supposed to write back.'_

Harry blinked again. "Oh... Hey!"

Now with a full understanding of the situation, Harry sat down in a chair behind him. He wasn't quite sure what to do. He didn't really feel like chatting with Malfoy right now – not when he wanted to pound the jerk's face in. But at the same time, he really didn't have anything better to do while the others ate breakfast, and he had to get back at Malfoy for that stupid Gryffindork comment... Hm. What to do, what to do...

Then it occurred to him: of course Malfoy knew how to get the makeup off, he clearly wore it himself (Harry wasn't thinking all that rationally at this point) and maybe, just maybe, if they talked long enough... maybe he'd let something slip...

Harry immediately grabbed a quill and flipped to the backside of the letter. (Which now said, '_Man, I can't believe how many times you've flipped this over, you clueless squib._')

Only... Harry couldn't think of a word to write. He couldn't come off as angry as he wanted to, because then he'd never get the cure, but if he went too nicely Malfoy would be suspicious...

After a minute he settled for a simple, '_Not really. You?_' He figured if he kept his cool, Malfoy might get so frustrated as to lose his. Then he'd be more likely to spill the dirt.

He gave it to the owl, which was still glaring in one of the most unsettling ways Harry had ever seen. The bird was gone in an instant.

...And back in another...

With a new message that read, '_What's that supposed to mean? I'm having the time of my life.'_

Harry smirked. He dipped his quill in another bout of ink and smugly wrote, _'Yah, locked in the Slytherin common room out of shame.'_

Back to the bird. He wondered vaguely if Headwig would be upset, should the knowledge of this ever reach her. It was kind of like cheating on her, in a way. Poor thing. He should probably go get her.

Then Harry realized that staying up in Gryffindor Tower was clearly doing things to his head. Malfoy wasn't worth the extra trip to the owlery. Besides, he half wanted to exhaust the eagle owl, as a twisted form of revenge for glaring at him. (Yup, it was clearly doing things to his head.)

The rest of the conversation pretty much went on like that for a while. Though the short comments became progressively more personal, none of it was actually any use to Harry. ...He even forgot about his original intentions about three quarters of the way through.

_How's your mother feel about your cosmetic collection bettering hers, anyway, Malfoy?_

_You like it that much? Jealous, are we?_

The stupid taunts were kind of mind-numbing like that, getting Harry caught up in the moment.

_So, Potter, how is the lipstick's texture? Nice and smooth?_

_You tell me._

Something like that.

The weirdest part was that Harry found he actually _enjoyed_ the 'discussion' to some extent – it was nice to be able to go one on one with Malfoy, without having to worry about cronies and thugs lurking around corners.

_Sorry you had to waste all your allowance on me, Malfoy. I'm sure that makeup cost you a fortune. At least you got extra practice in application. Doubt you needed it, though._

_Eh, it was worth it, doubt I could have tricked Weasel into the shag without it._

On the other hand, Malfoy was an annoying git that ought to be shot on target.

Only... that one kind of got him. He knew it was just a joke, but it still made him stop. He'd never really thought about it before... not even when Hermione had brought up that rumor... if Malfoy wore makeup... did he like guys?

Had Hermione been there, she might have been able to fill Harry in on a few facts. One, just because a guy likes to wear makeup, doesn't mean they're gay. Two, it hadn't even been established yet that Malfoy even actually wore makeup. Three, he was utterly insane.

However, Hermione wasn't there, and Harry's mental madness was allowed to continue. The pause in the regular routine had done something to his reflex retorts, though. It took him a moment to come up with a reply.

In the meantime, the green ink faded out for new words to form.

_Nah, just kidding. Totally wasn't worth it – he's rubbish._

The previously thought up reply went clean out of his mind. Blushing madly, Harry glared down at the paper. What the hell was Malfoy going on about? This conversation twist was totally uncalled for.

Once again, the ink twisted to form a fresh message, right before Harry's all dolled-up eyes.

_Still a right bit better than you, though, I'd expect. Bet your game couldn't improve with all the makeup in England._

Harry completely coloured.

Okay, now that just wasn't fair...


	6. The Official Loss of Harry’s Sanity

Of course, no one was really stupid enough to believe all of the rumors now circulating Hogwarts. The majority only followed the basic idea (like Snape having a young boy complex, or Dumbledore wearing odd undergarments.) A few people didn't believe any of it, another group believed almost all of it, save for the part about Harry dumping Draco, because that was just crazy.

Harry's little group of Gryffindor guys fell somewhere into the first category, falling only slightly short of the last. (While poor Hermione, completely unable to sway the boys to her side, remained in the intellectual one.)

By the time they reached Gryffindor Tower, several faster students had already done so. A number were seated in various couches and chairs next to Harry's dormitory. They were all trying to look inconspicuous, while quite conspicuously taking turns staring their sockets out at the obviously magically locked door. There were plenty of other Gryffindors placed haphazardly about the common room, all doing the exact same thing.

The group approached it anyway. Neville slumped his shoulders. "Oh, he's locked himself in... Now what are we going to do?"

Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly. Her wand was out in an instant, feet approaching the door. "Oh, honestly! _Alohomora!"_It flew open.

Without another word, the tight group marched into the room, throwing the door firmly shut behind them to block out prying eyes.

Harry was sitting on his bed with a mass of paper shreds scattered around him, half bearing a tiny scrawl much too neat for Harry's own. He had his quill out, and his fingers were ink stained. There was an eagle owl on the bedpost that had a very disturbing glare, which immediately turned to them. The group approached him.

Dean was the first to break the silence.

"Seriously, why are girls allowed in here?"

Harry gave a little start and looked up at them, frowning. "Oh... people... hello?" He then turned back to his bed, and hastily shoved as much paper as he could under his pillow, smudging the bottom with ink in the process. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"...Er... hello."

Harry turned back to see Hermione, momentarily forgetting his current predicament. This was a grave mistake.

Everyone cringed, and Neville quickly shuffled over to the bag left on his bed, muttering about class. Seamus was very tempted to join him out of sympathy for his friend, but Dean grabbed his hand. The latter clearly needed support.

Ron was the first person to speak after that. "Well, you look... um..."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Dreadful, I know," he deadpanned. The rest of the paper was then shoved under the rest of the pillow. Ron winced.

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"So it's true, then!" Dean suddenly exclaimed. Hermione promptly spun around and smacked him on the back of his head.

"Of course it's not!"

Dean grumbled as he rubbed the spot, and Harry squinted at her suspiciously. He was shifting rather uncomfortably, which was very understandable. Were he not used to being stared at for his scar, he probably wouldn't be able to show his face to his friends at all. "What's true?"

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, skirting around the subject. Instead, she pointed at the messy pillow and sinister-looking owl. "What were you just doing?"

"Nothing," he casually answered. Hermione wrinkled her nose. Fair enough.

"It looks like you were flirting," Seamus suddenly said. With a jump, the residents of the room turned to look at him. He was holding a small scrap of paper and pointing to the ground, where he had originally picked it off of. He waved it around a bit, smirking. "Well, it _does._ Who were you talking to, anyway? Was it that Chang girl?"

Harry blushed, clearly wanting to say yes. Instead, he snatched the note back and glared his eyes out. Seamus backed up immediately, knowing what an angry Harry could be like. "I was _not_flirting." He sniffed. "We were..."

He paused.

"Um..."

"...Flirting," Seamus finished, as if that settled it. At Harry's angry twitch of the eye, he grabbed an unsuspecting Dean and hauled him towards the door. "Doesn't matter, though! Neville's right, off to class we go!"

Harry grumbled something incoherent and lowered his head again. Snatching a spare bit of parchment, he hastily scribbled something and handed it to the bird. It took off instantly, much to everyone's relief.

"Tell McGonagall I'm sick," he muttered after the retreating group. Hermione opened her mouth, clearly to protest, but Ron talked over her.

"Tell her," he echoed, flatly. "Seriously, Harry can't go like this."

Very grateful for his friend's irrational understanding, Harry grinned up at the redhead. "Thanks, man." He then turned to Hermione. "I'm not feeling that well anyway – I'll even check in at the infirmary, later."

Hermione glared pure daggers, but left anyway, not quite cruel enough to make Harry suffer unbearable embarrassment for the sake of one lesson. Ron lingered behind.

He was just about to ask after the letters – clearly under the impression that Harry would tell him, them being best mates and all – when the eagle owl arrived back, dropping a note on to the bed. Harry snatched it up instantly, but didn't manage to do so quickly enough. Ron was still granted the chance to read it.

It read, quite unmistakably:

'What took so long, Potter? Shagging the Weasel, or something? (Don't bother if you're about to, I'm telling you he's not worth the trouble.)'

Ron's eyes promptly fell out of their sockets.

There was a very, very awkward silence.

After what felt like several minutes, Ron managed coherent words. "Bloody hell... Harry... you weren't... not with Malfoy..." Looking absolutely disgusted out of his mind, Ron backed up and fell backwards onto his bed. Harry blushed a furious red, which clashed horribly with his eyeliner.

"Um... you weren't supposed to read that..." he mumbled. "You're going to be late, too-"

"What the hell are you two talking about!" Ron burst out. Harry opened his mouth – hopefully to explain, or maybe just gurgle pitifully, but Ron just kept going. "No, you know what? I don't want to know!"

He then grabbed his bag and raced to the class he was already late for, looking as if he were about to be sick all over the floor. This left a bewildered Harry alone on his bed.

After a brief moment of thought, he considered racing after Ron and trying again to explain, but...

What was there to explain?

With a sigh, he turned back to his quill. Nothing, really; he couldn't think of anything. On top of that, he didn't want to be seen by the rest of the outside world for at least twenty-four hours, and Malfoy was still waiting for his reply.

He grabbed his quill and wrote grudgingly,

'_Oh, now you've done it.'_

He gave it to the owl, which brought back,

_'Read it, did he? I thought as much. Were you on the top or bottom, then?'_

Harry blinked, anger temporarily forgotten. The well-suppressed rage steadily made way for... what, exactly? Harry wasn't really sure himself, so he settled for,

_'Excuse me...?'_

What he got back was definitely no help at all.

'Just so you know, I'm sighing in exasperation. Did you take it up the arse or did he, you idiot?'

Harry stared at the return parchment in... a mixture somewhere between surprise and horror. It took him a good ten minutes to manage anything decent, back.

_'What the hell are you on about, Malfoy?'_

'_I take it the bottom – you sound rather sensitive.'_

Harry, still hyperventilating and sure he had just been scarred for life, took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. Okay, this wasn't going well. Malfoy had obviously consumed one of Snape's more lethal potions, and was simply suffering some well-deserved brain damage. Yeah, that was it. Potions...

A hand absently brushed back his hair, and Harry found himself completely at a loss for words. He really was trying to keep his cool and think this through properly, but there really was nothing to think through or be cool about. Malfoy was simply a stupid git and there was simply nothing he could do about it...

...Except try to turn the tables...

With a smirk, he took a deep breath, and steadied his hand on the parchment. His response was embarrassing, but hopefully more so for Malfoy.

'_Neither, actually, we were just talking. I'm more of a top person though.'_Harry paused at that, inwardly figuring it was true. He _was_ Harry Potter, after all. If he could defeat Voldemort repeatedly, surely he could handle anyone that wanted him on the bottom. _'You'd be bottom, I suppose? Is that why you're so terrible at Quidditch? Rear always sore from the night before?'_ Harry smirked at that. He was actually quite proud for working Quidditch in.

The reply was quicker than he was expecting.

'Yes, actually. You try riding a broom after you've ridden Flint – it's bloody hard.'

Well that was... not expected, either... He sincerely hoped Malfoy was kidding.

Quill in hand, he paused again on the return letter. So much for gaining the upper hand. His insults had been easy reflected, or at least absorbed, and he was the one feeling queasy again. Harry glared at nothing in particular. This fight just wasn't going his way...

And it was a fight, of course – not flirting...

While all of this was going through Harry's head, the writing was fading out again. He watched the silky letters twist, forming new words, new horrors. It didn't take long, this time.

Harry paled.

'_Really, though? You, on top? I'll have to see it to believe it._

_I'd better get to class now, but we can explore this new discovery, say... nine? In the trophy room? See you then.'_

Harry wrote a furious '_no_' and gave it to the eagle owl, which didn't come back.

He lay on his bed for an hour after that, half hoping Malfoy had gotten his answer, and half hoping not.


	7. The Last Straw

Harry did not, of course, go to the infirmary. Instead he remained on his bed nearly the entire day, grumbling to himself about how Malfoy was a stupid prat. He knew that all of his professors would be furious tomorrow when he showed up again, but as rational thought was rapidly becoming Harry's mortal enemy, he didn't think much about it. Most of them would just have to trust that he was truly sick.

Professor McGonagall did come up once. He hid under his bed and didn't come out again for ten minutes after she left. The last thing he needed was the staff aware of his incredible misfortune. He dearly hoped that she had taken his absence as a sure sign of ill health, rather than continuing on to check the infirmary. In the back of his mind, he was sure he was hoping in vain.

Nine, much to Harry's aggravation, was only an hour or so short of the promised twenty-four hours his make-up demanded to stay on for. He had no doubts that Malfoy had chosen this time with that exact fact in mind. Thus, Harry decided not to go to the trophy room.

Only... then he wouldn't get to punch Malfoy's lights out for this incredibly crappy day...

On the other hand, Malfoy could have been planning to doll him up again...

No, he wouldn't try it twice, that would just be stupid...

Not that Malfoy wasn't stupid, just not that kind of stupid, and he probably did have something planned...

Because he couldn't possibly want to see Harry... want to see him... er... see him be on top...

Harry blushed a furious red and buried his face deep into his pillows.

He really, really, really wanted to punch Malfoy's face in – all pretty from too much cosmetics or not.

So at half past eight he got out his Invisibility Cloak (there was no way he was letting anyone see him still like this) and headed straight for the Trophy Room. He told an amused Hermione that he was going to the Library to do the Charms homework she had given him. He told a traumatized Ron that Malfoy was just being an idiot before (which he was) and Ron had walked in on Harry about to tell him off (which he sort of was) and Harry was now going to make Malfoy pay for it (which he really was). He told a pair of laughing dorm mates that _no_, he did _not_ find Snape attractive, and whoever made up that part of the rumor was a few cells short of a brain.

He reached the trophy room about ten minutes early and waited outside, wondering on just what to do. He had two choices in mind.

One, wait inside with his Invisibility Cloak still on, ready to pounce on the blond the minute he entered. The advantage of this plan was that Harry could beat the living daylights out of Malfoy, without the Slytherin even knowing what happened or being able to stop it. The disadvantage was that Malfoy wouldn't have to stumble around with a broken ego, knowing that an androgynous looking Harry had done the damage.

Two, wait inside with the Invisibility Cloak hidden outside, as ready to pounce as the first. The advantages here were the disadvantages of the first plan, and visa versa.

He sat down at the door and considered his options carefully. The coat of armor next to him kept shifting about. Vaguely, Harry wondered if it was possible for an inanimate object to find an invisible person's footsteps unnerving (though nothing was really inanimate at Hogwarts – he just didn't know how else to put it).

Unfortunately, his thoughts were interrupted. He was still sitting against the stone corridor when new footsteps were heard, and the armor turned to look with him. Harry got to his feet as silently as he could manage (if Malfoy was early, he wanted to be ready).

However, the sandy head that came out from around the corner did not belong to Draco Malfoy, or any Slytherin at all. Harry was just about to take off his cloak and greet Seamus and Dean, when his ears picked up on a bit of their conversation.

"...Know that's not true. That's just stupid!" Dean was saying.

"I know, but it might be possible... Maybe that's why they don't teach us family life or biology at Hogwarts – because they don't want to creep us out of our minds..." Seamus mumbled.

They were walking very slowly, and the corridor was quite long. This fueled Harry's hope that he wouldn't be heard falling back down, though the suit of armor did jump a little when he did. Harry noticed that Dean and Seamus were holding hands. That was a bit odd.

"Oh honestly, Seamus!" Here Dean stopped walking, a couple feet from where Harry was sitting. He rounded on Seamus, who stopped as well. "If it were possible for wizards to get pregnant I think we'd know about it!"

Harry's jaw instantly dropped. What on Earth were they talking about? Wizards getting... Harry shook his head. No, he couldn't possibly have heard right...

Seamus shuffled sheepishly, his foot tracing little circles on the ground. He put his hands in his robe's pockets. "I know, I know... but still, what if? Harry has been acting oddly lately, and those rumors had to come from somewhere..."

Green eyes wide, Harry stared at the pair for all he was worth. They weren't... they weren't suggesting... that he was... could be...

"Harry's always acting odd – he's got it really tough. Look, we don't have the correct organs anyway, we just couldn't. That's that."

For all the world Harry wanted to get up and side with Dean, but then he wouldn't get to hear the rest of the conversation... not that he really wanted to, but...

"But... my uncle was dating this guy once, and they broke up after my uncle started gaining weight, and he got really irritable when we visited... My mum kept making all these jokes..."

For once, Harry didn't feel like the craziest person in Hogwarts.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, stepping forward. He placed a careful hand on Seamus' shoulder, who averted his eyes and went a furious red. "Seamus, your uncle gaining weight was a coincident, he was upset because they broke up, and your mom was only joking. It's not possible, okay? So we can use a protection spell, anyway, if you really think we need to, but honestly, I promise you we really don't."

Before Harry's eyes could fall out of their sockets properly, Seamus was nodding and leaning in. A voice in the back of Harry's mind told him to avert his eyes, but something kept them open, so he just stared while two of his mates just started... started...

_Kissing._

He half expected Dean to push Seamus away any minute, spluttering in confusion. But all Dean did was kiss Seamus back and push him against the wall, and then they were moving... and touching... and moaning... and Dean started kissing Seamus' neck, and Seamus was pulling at his robes, and Harry really thought he should avert his eyes...

"Hey, wait until we get to a classroom," Seamus chuckled when Dean started fiddling with the buttons on his robe. Dean nodded, and they kissed again.

After a moment of gathering themselves, they continued down the corridor. Harry's eyes refused to leave them, wide as they would go, and his mouth was just as stretched. They were... they had just...

Just before they turned the corner, at a much quicker pace than they had started with, Dean added, "Besides, I'm sure Harry would have told us if he was bearing Malfoy's kid. You just can't keep something like that hidden; it's too big."

And then they were gone.

And Harry just _stared._

Of course, the first thing that jumped to Harry's head was rumors. Someone must have started a rumor that he and Malfoy... He didn't want to finish that thought.

Every student in Hogwarts probably now thought it. Harry glared hard at the stone floor. Harder. Anger slowly started to boil up in him; he had never been one to have much control over his emotions. With a grunt, he pushed off the floor.

Oh, that was _it._Malfoy was _dead._


	8. The Rewards of Revenge

Malfoy was exactly sixteen minutes and forty-seven seconds late.

Harry knew this because he had waited on a desk at the back of the room, glaring at his watch. The Invisibility Cloak was tucked away at his feet. He had his wand out, and his mind was furiously running over every hex, jinx, and curse he knew, trying to pick out the worst ones. He planned on trying them all. If he ran out, he planned on concentrating all his energy on not pulling a few Unforgivables. (Malfoy wasn't quite worth Azkaban – though that last rumor did bring him awfully close.)

Harry also spent a few minutes wondering after Dean and Seamus, trying desperately not to think of what they were doing a few rooms over.

Quite unexpectedly, Malfoy showed up alone. His wand wasn't out, but he was holding a camera, and that permanent smirk was fixed in place. Harry didn't take in anything but the smirk; the minute the door closed, he pounced.

Malfoy had clearly not expected such an attack, for all he did was open his mouth in shock before Harry landed. This gave Harry the always-handy element of surprise. He used it to throw Malfoy to the floor, straddling the smaller body and pinning thinner wrists to the stone. Malfoy's face instantly twisted in pain. The camera slid out of the way.

Now, up to this point Harry had had a rather brilliant plan for conducting his revenge. However, it was rather hard to call said plan to mind when the cause of nearly-all-things-wrong-with-his-life was suddenly helpless beneath him. He could still hear Dean's words in the back of his mind, and suddenly he was all too aware of the decoration on his face. All coherent thoughts sufficiently blocked out of sight and out of mind, he drew his fist back. (The hexes, jinxes, and curses were also completely forgotten.)

Normally Malfoy would have blocked with his hands or even rolled over/away. Harry took care of both of those problems. Malfoy's surprised look instantly shifted to one of pure fright when he realized he was defenseless. Harry smirked. It felt good to have Malfoy completely vulnerable.

Of course, one could hardly expect Malfoy to just sit there, waiting for the impact. His legs being the only free part of his body, he dug his feet into the ground and pushed his whole lower body up, in an attempt to throw Harry off. All this really achieved was his hips bucking into Harry's. Harry turned beet red. Out of surprise, his fist clumsily missed, pounding into the floor to the right of Malfoy's head. This caused a domino effect, and Harry lost his balance. His entire body tumbled forward onto Malfoy's chest; the blond grunted.

There was a very, very awkward pause, in which Harry attempted to recover from his shock, and Malfoy attempted to breathe despite the heavy teen atop him. After a couple seconds, Malfoy smirked, "This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I implied that I wanted to see you on top."

Harry was officially a tomato.

In a sudden bout of disgust, he attempted to climb off Malfoy, releasing the blond's hands in the process. Malfoy instantly dove for the camera and freedom, but Harry caught him again before he got too far. This time Harry was very careful to keep as much distance as possible, keeping his upper body firmly upright.

Malfoy pulled a sort of sneer-smirk. "You going to sit on me all night, Potter?"

"As long as I need to, you slimy little worm!" Harry snapped back. "You're going to pay for that last rumor!"

Malfoy continued on as if he hadn't heard. "So what are you planning to do, then? Rape me?"

Harry's eye twitched. "Cut that out!"

"Aw," Malfoy drawled in a taunting voice, clearly spotting that he had hit a nerve. "Is Potter getting scared? Gotten me all helpless for nothing then, haven't you?"

Had Harry been thinking properly, he probably would have seen this as an obvious game of chicken. ...Harry wasn't thinking properly.

"Seriously, can it, you stupid git," he leveled dangerously, glaring knives.

With another slight buck of the hips, Malfoy playfully batted his eyelashes. "What're you waiting for, gay boy? You going to take me or not?"

That was the last straw. Harry instantly drew back his fist, the one around Malfoy's wrists recoiling slightly. He drew his arm back, but that was all the time it took for Malfoy to buck up again, this time to the side. With only his legs secure to the ground, Harry lost balance. Malfoy spun them over, freed hands suddenly shooting out, and Harry found himself lying on his back against the stone floor. Malfoy straightened up atop him. Before his hands could do something about it, Malfoy grabbed both of them. This wasn't quite as smart as Harry's position had been, as neither now had a free hand. Malfoy smirked anyway. After all, he was still on top.

"I knew you were more of a bottom person," the Slytherin sneered triumphantly. Harry growled.

Then paused. The scowled.

"So what are you planning, then? Are _you_ going to rape me?"

Malfoy only smirked back. "That's not a bad idea, actually."

Harry's mouth fell open. Malfoy's smirk widened.

Opening and closing his mouth a few times, Harry shook his head, wide-eyed. "You're not... Malfoy, this isn't funny anymore..." His eyes shot desperately to the door out of instinct.

Malfoy closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows, drawling sincerely, "I wasn't joking."

"You wouldn't!"

The distance between them shortened. Malfoy leaned in as close as possible, until their noses were almost touching. "And what if I did?"

Harry glared back. "I'd kill you!"

He was quite serious, too. He started struggling again like that settled it but stopped after a moment. Malfoy wasn't replying. Instead, he was staring at Harry with a sort of triumphant gleam in his eyes, which was frankly quite unnerving.

Harry was just on the verge of asking if something was wrong with Malfoy (not out of concern, of course, but curiosity) when he was denied the privilege.

In fact, for the next few seconds Harry was denied the ability to say anything at all, because Malfoy had leaned in far too far, and his lips were suddenly sealed. Their mouths crashed into each other with a soft sort of 'oomf.'

As if this wasn't bad enough, Harry had been caught in mid-question, which left his mouth open wide. This made full access incredibly easy for Malfoy to attain. The blond's tongue was between his lips in seconds.

It took Harry a few minutes to recover from the shock. During said period, Malfoy simply continued to ravish his mouth, in a very different manner than Harry expected.

First of all, this was a lot wetter. Second of all, it was a lot hotter. It was also faster, more passionate, and more fiery. Whether that actually sounded good or not, it ultimately made for a very, very good make-out session. ...Until Harry remembered who it was with, of course.

And further more, since when did Malfoy get to be the dominant one?

That said, Harry shoved his tongue back down Malfoy's throat, jerked his hands free, and attempted to roll them over. As Malfoy was now utterly distracted, this didn't prove to be a very difficult task. He figured that if he was going to shag his worst enemy, he might as well do it from on top.

"I thought they broke up," a familiar voice said suddenly from the door.


	9. The Almost End

Several rushed explanations, long talks, and kisses later, Harry was sitting side-by-side with his previous-arch enemy, back to the closed trophy room door. Seamus and Dean were probably back in the Gryffindor common room by now. Sleeping, of course. NOT spreading crazy rumors. ...Or there would be even crazier rumors about a certain sandy-haired Gryffindor and a lack of certain protection spells. This one was going to be kept quiet.

The twenty-four hours having completed a few minutes ago, Harry was now cosmetic free. Malfoy had even helped with the removal spell when Harry couldn't figure it out (Such information was given at wand point, but that's a minor detail.).

So two very confused boys were now sitting side-by-side. Two apparently gay, very, very confused boys. Harry had suspected as much from Malfoy for a while now, but as for himself... he couldn't possibly be... no way... that was insane... There was just no way that Harry Potter liked guys.

Only, Malfoy had just kissed him, and he had liked that.

But that was insane.

But he had liked it.

But really, that was insane.

And it had been Malfoy...

Harry brought a slow hand up to his head, which was now throbbing painfully. His world was officially insane.

Malfoy was the first person to break the silence. "You know, you could have just gone to Madam Pomfrey – she could have covered it up."

Harry paused in the middle of lowering his hand again. ...Why hadn't he thought of that...?

Malfoy smirked. "Not that I would expect you to think of that, I'm just saying you could have."

The statement was answered by a very flat stare. After a minute Harry dropped his head.

"So..." Malfoy drawled on, eyes suddenly searching the trophy room. "The Boy Who Lived is a poof... interesting..."

Harry glared at the other. "Hey, you're gay too. Don't point this all at me."

Malfoy shrugged. "Well, duh, I'm much too stylish to be straight." He smirked and picked an imaginary piece of dust off the edge of his robe. "Besides, haven't you heard that expression? All the good ones are gay."

Grinning sarcastically, Harry replied, "I'll take that as a compliment."

Malfoy smirked and nodded.

Silence once again encompassed the room.

And stayed there.

And stretched.

And stretched a little more.

And popped.

"So..."

"Do you want to..."

"Well, if you want to..."

"I guess we could..."

Then Malfoy was in his lap again, their mouths hungrily back together.

Yes, Harry's world was officially mad. Because only in a world that was totally off its rocker could Harry Potter be actually thinking, '_good lord, Draco Malfoy is HOT._'

He really was. He was also really good at what he was currently doing. Harry couldn't help but wonder if that Flint comment might have been more than a joke – no virgin could possibly move like Malfoy was.

One hand tangled in blond strands, one around a lithe waist; Harry pushed and pulled all at the same time. He tugged ferociously at Malfoy, shoving him backwards, trying to get him down. Malfoy tried the same. The result was both their bodies staying practically glued together, rolling to the floor. Legs to either side, hips melding, hands roaming, robes coming apart...

A good half hour later, both boys emerged from the trophy room, robes completely disheveled and hair all in a mess. They said their good byes (with one or two more arguments and a few quickly forced kisses) and headed off together to the end of the next few corridors, where they had to go separate ways (Not holding hands, because Harry made a comment about them looking manicured, and Malfoy didn't like that).

Finally, the two had to stop at the foot of a staircase. Harry positioned himself near the stairs, having to head up, while Malfoy was headed down. There was an awkward pause.

With a curt nod, Malfoy spun on his heel, and left.

By the time Malfoy was half way down, Harry couldn't stand it anymore. He had just one more thought to clear from his mind. "Wait!"

Malfoy stopped abruptly. Turning to look up, Harry smirked down at him and said, "You know, I never did get to see you in makeup," before heading up his own staircase.

He almost didn't hear the muttered call that followed him.

"At least wait 'til the second date."


	10. The Afterwards

With a small shudder of pleasure, Harry pulled up and out, collapsing atop the smaller body. Malfoy sighed deeply. A pale face nuzzled into his neck, and Harry couldn't stifle a moan.

"...'Told you I'm fantastic," Malfoy drawled.

Harry grinned. "I'll never doubt you again."

A shallow breath was drawn in. Harry lifted himself up a little with the next outward one, determined to admire the view before he completely passed out. His grin broadened.

Green tinted black eye-shadow, sparkling and glossy lips, too-long lashes that sparkled when they batted – sometimes Draco was just too beautiful for his own good. Honestly, no boy had a right to look like that. All charming and gorgeous and sexy all at once. He looked like some princess out of the fairy tales. After a second of taking it all in, Harry let his eyes close, head falling down against a sweat-soaked forehead. Ginny was _so_ right.

"Liked the view?"

"Mm... stunning..."

"Glad I'm appreciated."

There was a moment of silence, in which both teens attempted to gain back some of the previously spent energy. After a too-long night of too-rough passion, Harry felt like he could sleep away the week.

Yet he still had enough energy to slap a hand to the hips that started squirming out from beneath him.

"Stay," Harry mumbled absently, knowing full well how tired he sounded. The warmth under him shifted, and he moved his chin from the softness of the pillow to the softness of blond strands. They smelled of perfume. "Just this once."

Again, the body shifted, and pale hands snuck up Harry's sides. They wrapped around his back, pulling him closer. It warmed him to the ends of his toes. "Don't be stupid," Draco said coldly. "Like I want to spend the night in these awful sheets, anyway. Honestly, the ones in Slytherin are much more comfortable." Harry's eyes remained closed, but he knew those lips were smirking.

"Mhmm," He sighed. Draco added something silly about 'Gryffindork bedbugs,' but Harry really wasn't listening. He moved a hand over the mouth under him to demonstrate this. Draco smirked again and kissed it.

"Not going to happen," came the muffled words against his fingers. Harry was forced to drop them when Draco moved sideways. Rolling completely out from under him, Draco practically fell off the bed, and Harry fell down against the sheets.

He only bothered opening one eye. Only because it proved a lot more rewarding to watch the real Draco tug on his pants, rather than the one in his head.

"Don't worry." Turning around, Draco shrugged his robes over his shoulders and yanked them into place. He smirked down at Harry, who lazily grinned back, and ran a careful hand through his jelled hair. He took a step towards the door. "I'll stay the whole night with you when you buy me a nice big house."

Harry snorted at the closing door. "I'll add it to my list."

Evidently, Draco was ignoring the sarcasm in Harry's voice, because his last words were, "You better, and don't skimp on it – I'm expecting a castle," before the door swung all the way closed.

Harry grinned still wider into his pillows. "Along with duct-tape for that mouth," he mumbled, before closing his eyes and willing himself straight to sleep.

Oh, and he had to remember to tell Ginny in the morning that she was only a little off.

Draco didn't really look hot in make-up.

He looked like a bloody _god._


End file.
